Jeebusfuck. Gabriel's 1982 Security tour, Warner Theater, literally, one of the best five nights of my life, but fuckity, my entire life has been a lie.
Fuckity, Obama's decided to not piss you off until after next year's election:
The Obama administration will reassess the proposed route through Nebraska for a major pipeline that would carry oil from Canada to Texas, according to State Department officials, a move that will delay a final decision beyond the 2012 election.
Fucker. Again, please please please please please please please please please please please please please may John Roberts get hit by a bus in March so Obama need name Roberts' replacement at the height of the election cycle. Please please please please please please please please please please please please please.
Fuckity, did you know Washington DC has a professional soccer team?
Fuckity, it's true, but not for fucking long:
We have to aggressively figure a solution out, and that solution needs to be figured out soon. I am concerned about where this team will be in 2012. They’ve been operating without a new lease. They’ve been in discussions on a lease to try to improve their terms. I’m shocked to say they could be paying more for their lease in RFK than any other team we have in the league. There is no doubt in my mind that it’s a stadium that is substandard to what soccer fans are able to experience in many other markets.
This occurred to me, it's far-fetched but give it a try: best case scenario is the DC government is corrupt and incompetent (your test for today: is corruption more a feature of incompetence or incompetence a feature of corruption), probable scenario is DC government is corrupt and incompetent but Vince Gray is right that politically there's no fucking way DC spends a cent on United, worse case scenario is the DC government is corrupt but not so incompetent it doesn't want United to fuck off elsewhere so RFK can be torn down so a motherfucking midget with a helmetball team can overspend for the property.
Adding, Kevin Payne. Why is Will Chang paying Kevin Payne, who has failed on the field and has failed in getting a stadium, who appears to have ZERO FUCKING OPTIONS other than move the team from DC? He was hired to produce winning teams and get a stadium built in DC or immediate surrounds. Yes, negotiating with the District sucks. Maybe negotiating with Kevin Payne sucks too.
Also, too. Also, beerless Byrd Stadium and Barra Brava and campus police who couldn't even get a job with the motherfucking Park Police. Win.
- Yes, there were Thursday Night Pints, interesting things were said by crotchedy old people, I'll tell you about it tomorrow, or not.
- Oakland.
- Occupy the narrative.
- I said this first, but I am not jodiworthy.
- How I learned to love Occupy.
- Occupy Des Moines.
- Capitalism.
- Worth a thousand words.
- A shocking twist.
- A momentary disintegration.
- Jeebus, this is why this post has generated 2K hits since yesterday.
- On the above.
- I asked first, but I am not worthy.
- Read this. I think Lisa Robertson poetry is major yes. I can't read fiction any more, I never could read non-fiction beyond intros and conclusions, but etc and yes....
- Embedded disabled by request. Air-whistling. Awesome.
- Paper and iron. Holyfuck.
- Yes, this post has the standard XTC vids. More Partridge birthday later.
THE SOUL
Ira Sadoff
The shaft of narrative peers down.
The soul's a petrified fleck of partridge this October.
Mud-spattered, it thinks it's brush, it thinks
it's one with the brush when God aims
just below its feathers. It's too late to raise the soul,
some ossified conceit we use to talk about deer
as if we were deer, to talk about the sun, as if the cold
autumn light mirrored our lover asleep in the tub.
Nevertheless, I want to talk about it. Those scarred bodies
on the hospital table, they're white chalk children use
to deface the sidewalk. The deer fed in the gazebo,
where the salt lick was barely safe from the fox.
And when the wind didn't drag my scent to her,
I sat listless, half-awake, and watched her hunger
surpass her timidity. I should have been changed.
I should have been startled into submission
by a very white light, I should have shed my misgivings
as her tongue made that sticky sound on the lick
and two startled animals stared into what St. Francis
called a mystery. I should bring her back, the woman too,
the woman who what why words fail me here.
I should sanctify the hospital gown as it slides down
the tunnel of the catscan, to see where
the nodules have spread into the thin, pliable tissues
we call the innards in animals, because they dwell
in scenery, they're setting for the poem, they provide
a respite from the subject who's been probed and lacerated,
who's been skinned and eaten away by the story
when I'm beguiled by the music the hooves made
on the pine floor. I can bring her back, can't I,
I'm bringing him back, the hero who was close enough
so I could watch what was inside his face hover and scatter. 